


I'll Be Here For You

by Knightingale0



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Found Family Dynamic, Gen, Mention of blood, i just really like found family siblings, its dream smp so mentions of the war on november 16, no beta we die like alivebur being stabbed, this is my first fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:21:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28462317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knightingale0/pseuds/Knightingale0
Summary: When they were in school and people would mix them up, Wilbur and Phil helped Techno dye his hair to tell them apart, pink and soft and starting to grow out, and Will would play with it when they sat next to each other.
Relationships: Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & Phil Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 66





	I'll Be Here For You

When they were kids Techno would sit in front of the couch on bad days and let Wilbur or Phil run their fingers through his hair, short and brown like Will’s, Phil's rough fingers carding through the short locks and occasionally Will's longer and softer ones as well, the three of them curled up by a fire telling stories late into the night.

When they were in school and people would mix them up, Wilbur and Phil helped Techno dye his hair to tell them apart, pink and soft and starting to grow out, and Will would play with it when they sat next to each other, his own short brown curls loose against his forehead or tucked into a beanie.

When they were a bit older Techno would start to fall asleep at his desk and Wilbur or Phil would sneak in and place a blanket around his shoulders and run fingers through longer hair and maybe press a kiss onto his head.

When they were teens Techno would sit on Will’s bed and talk about whatever thoughts were on his mind and Wilbur would braid his hair, little braids that made Techno smile in reminiscence when he ran fingers over the tightly crossed strands of pale pink, remembering just talking mindlessly and simply.

When Wilbur moved out to make a nation with his new friends, Techno lay on his bed and clung tightly to the braids that now reached to below his shoulder blades and didn’t cry but he missed him, and if Phil came in and saw the pink haired man curled up tight and sat next to him and rested a hand on his head then no one else knew.

When Techno left home to have his own adventures he didn’t expect to miss the feeling of hands weaving through his now nearly waist length hair, gentle touches replaced with scratching branches and icy cold fingers of wind that clawed at his scalp and the back of his neck and tugged at the long pink strands that flowed behind him like a second cape as he strode over icy tundra and grassy plains. 

When Techno finally found his family again it was in between two warring nations, his brother leading a group of rebels against a crumbling president and his cabinet. He was seen as a weapon, a tool, but he was accepted and after days spent farming in the underground potato fields of the rebel base, wiping sweat from his brow and tossing a long braid over his shoulder, he felt Wilbur’s arms around him in a hug and long gentle fingers unraveling and replaiting and he was home for the first time in a while.

When everything went wrong, when the rebels, these kids, tried to step up, full of hope for a future he knew could not come from a weak government, Techno tossed his head back and let the wind from the explosion set his cape and hair flying behind him as he insisted this was not the way to go, as he unleashed two ancient monsters to finish the work Wilbur had started, finally bringing an end to this misguided nation. Only to hear cries of disbelief and turned to see Phil, sword in hand, an arm around the other member of his family, and it took a moment to see the sword point, to see the red stain on the crystal blade and the brown trench coat, mixing with the settling dust in the crater, and there was salt on his face, wet salt, as his brother collapsed and Phil did too and suddenly he was on the ground and the explosions were loud but the voices in his head were louder so much louder and people were shouting and it was too much too much

When it was over, Techno left. He left behind these people who had caused all this, his brother’s country, his temporary home in the farm and his secret base with his pets. Across a frozen landscape, taking bits from villages he passed until he found a place far enough away from the bad memories, from his family, god his family. He couldn’t stand to think of them, not now. He couldn’t think of them without feeling sick and sad and he hated it. He spent days collecting materials and building up the foundations of his new home, cobbled together stones and sturdy logs and wooden shutters in the place of glass windows. The long nights were cold and dark and the first night he spent in his new house was blissfully warm and bright, a comfortable bed by a roaring fireplace. 

When Techno had a home, a safe place, he finally let himself grieve. He lay and cried and missed his family, missed his old home, the security of his old life, the feeling of fingers combing through his hair, god his hair, it was faded and so long and reminded him of home and oh. He missed them so much. But they were gone. They were gone and they weren’t coming and he didn’t want them to come he didn’t want to see them he didn’t want to remember

When Techno was grieving he took his axe, once used to kill, once covered in a layer of crimson blood, now used to chop wood. The keen edge raised to the nape of his neck, braid taut, a swipe up and his head jolted forward. Rough hairs brushed his face and neck and his head felt light and there was a faded pink rope of braided hair in his hand. There was both a feeling of relief and horrible guilt as he stared at it. 

When Techno was lowest, alone, Phil came, Phil, who murdered his brother in cold blood, who had given him a home for so many years, who had been a father to him. Phil helped him, provided levity, got him supplies, the more difficult ones like turtle shells and honey. Phil sat by the fire with him and ran calloused fingers through his now short hair and they talked about happy things, things from the past, good times with their little family and when the conversation died they sat in comfortable silence, Techno’s head in Phil’s lap until they fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Please consider leaving a kudos if you liked the fic, any comments and criticisms are always appreciated!


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